Believe
by cheertennis12
Summary: "You breathe a sigh of relief, feeling like a crushing weight has been lifted. The storm has only just begun, but to know you've been seen, heard & believed in New York gives you confidence, that yes, you can do this. It won't be easy, but you'll never be alone"/ based the Forgiving Rollins promo, as canon as possible, Amanda discusses her assault with her squad, STORY 3 OF SERIES
1. Chapter 1

**Oh man, I'm on a roll this week as far as writing, thanks to FINALLY having free time and being sick! Three updates in two days, but this one was just begging to be written before other stories were finished :) This is based on that dang promo for the spring premiere that's had everyone shaken up since Wednesday. Seriously, that "he raped me" at the end is so haunting... can't wait for January!**

**This is a little short, but I'm tired and want to go to bed, so here's what I'm up to so far. Some minor details might not be consistent, but this is intended to be in the same world as "Twenty-Four" and "Rainbows of Grey", so if you haven't already read those, you should!**

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><p><em>He raped me. <em>

Those words tasted like vinegar on your tongue, and you never, never expected to be sitting in your sergeant's office confessing your deep dark Atlantan secret to two of the people who intimidated you most in this world. Benson and Dodds had been uncharacteristically empathetic, maybe a little shocked at your revelation, but that still didn't make anything about this easy.

You didn't do it for yourself; You did it for Reese Taymor. She'd been your replacement in the department, and evidently, your replacement in Patton's figurative bed too. You should have known that you weren't his first, and you wouldn't be his last. You should have stood your ground, not run away to New York when things got too messy and leave the door wide open for him to prey on someone else. Now, you found yourself defending a sister in blue you'd only met this morning when she came in to your precinct and recounted a story that was eerily familiar. You owed it to _her_ now. She could have been spared, _would_ have been spared had you stuck to your guns and not recanted your allegations against your commanding officer.

How could you ever forgive yourself for letting this happen to someone else.

Benson had called you all into the office first thing that morning to give you the rundown on what you believed to be a standard new case. A girl came in claiming rape, the boy claimed it was consensual when he was contacted, and the only two people who knew the truth narrated it differently. When your sergeant began to unravel the allegations and parties involved, you froze. A chief from Atlanta, visiting for a conference with one of his detectives, and you immediately knew what this was about before names were even mentioned. When Patton's identity was finally introduced, you could feel the blood drain from your face. You knew Olivia had seen it too when she asked you to hang back to speak with her and Dodds privately after releasing everyone else.

Benson and Dodds had grilled you even more about Patton when you were left alone with them. Was he trusted? How did he interact with the other detectives? How did he interact with you? Do you think he is capable of something like this? Did you ever see him acting inappropriately with any of your coworkers? Did he ever act inappropriately with _you_? You couldn't have lied even if you wanted to; your shaking hands and other nonverbal cues gave everything away. You'd backed yourself into a corner, and you had no other option but to tell what really made you leave Atlanta. For Reese.

_He raped me. _

It had been so long since you let yourself speak those words out loud, they felt foreign on your tongue. The shock written all over Benson and Dodds' faces didn't make you feel any better.

As soon as you'd been dismissed from the office, you darted next door into the cribs. You crawled onto a bunk in the corner and leaned against the wall, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears streamed down your face, and for once, you didn't try to stop them. New York was supposed to be your do-over, your fresh start, where nobody knew you and nobody knew what happened.

…

"Rollins?" You hear your boss call from the doorway as she scans the room. Her voice sounds different from the normal bark of your name. It's gentler, more like the way she talks to Nick or Fin instead of how she beckons you into her office when you've screwed up or pissed her off yet again.

You quickly scramble off of the bed and stand to your feet, brushing the wrinkles out of your blouse. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, I…." You desperately try to explain your absence from the squadroom when there was work to be done, all while wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand.

She raises her hand to cut you off, offering a sympathetic smile. "Amanda, it's fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

You've seen that smile, heard that tone of voice before. It's the way she talks to _victims_, and you're sure as hell not going to be one of them. You take a deep breath and grit your teeth. "I'm fine." You finally spit out, and you're a little proud that you managed to speak without your voice shaking, even if it was only two syllables. It might almost sound convincing.

Olivia looks at you, and you can see the pity in her eyes. You're resisting every urge to break for the doors and run far, far away from here. Transfer to a new city where nobody knows you, start a new life, and join a new police department where no one knows you as the girl who accused your commanding officer of raping you and you were deemed the liar. If she wasn't blocking your exit, you probably would.

"That was a brave thing you did, coming forward after all this time. I know it's hard…"

"No." Your emotion turns to anger, and all of a sudden, you have no problem with mincing words. "Don't talk to me like I'm a victim. I don't need for you to stand here and tell me it's not my fault, and you know how I feel, and it's all going to be okay, because I know how this works. It was a long time ago. I'm fine."

"And it wasn't worth pursuing…" She muses, and you're not sure if that's supposed to be a question or a statement. Had she already talked to Patton? When did she catch wind of the Atlanta catchphrase?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You narrow your eyes and fire back, your heart racing and your stomach all the way in your throat. Only one way to find out.

"Right after you transferred in, you and I worked that case at LaGuardia psych, and I told Gia that I had been assaulted. You asked me about it later, then told me something had happened to you on the job too, but it wasn't worth pursuing. Is this what you were talking about?"

You did say that, didn't you? After all of the _"I don't have to pay someone to listen to my problems"_ and _"I don't trust you"_ and _"I'd transfer you if I wasn't so short staffed",_ you'd almost forgotten that there was once a time you thought your relationship with Olivia Benson might consist of hair-braiding and friendship bracelets and bonding as the only female detectives in the unit. You'd eyeballed her work all the way from your cubicle in Georgia, and part of the appeal of moving to The City was to learn from the best. The Olivia Benson you'd idolized had a reputation for being an advocate, for believing those who seemed unbelievable, for convincing the skeptics that it _would_ get better, and for being relentless in pursuing justice even when it seemed impossible. And maybe, just maybe, you thought she could convince you too.

"Yeah." You mutter, crossing your arms protectively against your chest and dropping your eyes to your lap. You almost feel bad, because you know she's just trying to find some way to comfort you, and you're a little more of a stubborn case than most.

"Amanda, I'm so sorry. I didn't know…" she begins, and you're not going to hear this. After all of the shit she's said to you and put you through when all you ever wanted was someone to look up to, she doesn't get to turn into your best friend now that she's learned you have this one more undesired thing in common. It's not her job to fix you.

"Why, would you have treated me differently if you did?" You fire back. "I don't need your sympathy, Olivia. I don't need your help. The only reason I said anything to you and Dodds is because I want you to believe Reese."

She pauses for a beat, and you almost think you're starting to see tears in her eyes as well. She raises her arms and places them on your shoulders before looking you square in the eye. "I believe _you_, Amanda." She tells you, and yes, you definitely see tears.

She believes you. Someone believes you. It's the first time you've heard those words from anyone other than Sam Reynolds, your captain in Atlanta who helped you to transfer but still had divided loyalties. It's the first time you've ever felt heard, and for the first time, it really hits that this squad isn't just the boys club that Atlanta was. This is your _family_.

You turn away and sit back down on the bunk, because you don't want your boss to see you cry again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaaah so i KNOW I have other stories I need to update too, but this was just begging to be written. I might also retract what I said about this only being a two-shot (I always end up doing that, don't I?) and tack on a conversation between Amanda and Fin based on that script page spoiler Warren tweeted this morning. **

**Hope you like! Comments in my inbox make me happy!**

**(If you recognize it, it's not mine)**

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><p>Olivia sits down on the bed beside you, and you immediately shuffle a few inches over. It's too close for comfort, and you're already feeling a bit overwhelmed. She seems to notice your uneasiness, and she immediately slides to the other end of the mattress, a safe distance away. You're appreciative, but you don't know how to say it.<p>

_"_I didn't report my first assault either." She starts again in that same gentle voice reserved only for the most obstinate of victims. You're still not much for talking, but you're at least thankful she's filling the silence so you don't have to. "It was six, maybe seven years ago… I volunteered to go undercover in a woman's prison. It was a close call… scary, and… painful… but Fin got there in time. He's the only one who knew for a long time. I thought I could handle it on my own."

"Would you have reported Lewis if you had the choice?" It's a dangerous question, a little spiteful and you know it. She's certainly never talked to you about him before, but then again, you've never asked. You'd always had these mental images of your sergeant sitting around with Nick and Fin, discussing these deep dark details over ice cream and coffee and intentionally excluding you, but you know better than to believe that's actually the case. You know how it feels to want to hold those details tightly.

Olivia closes her eyes and tilts her head back, resting it against the cold cinderblock walls. She pauses for such an extended time that you're almost considering an apology for bringing it up. "Most of the time, I think I would have. If I can't do it, then how can I expect our vics to. And all of… that. I don't think there's any way I could have made it without having the support I did. But sometimes, you wonder, is that always going to be the first thing people think of when they think of you? When I'm standing in front of the commissioner and the committee at CompStat, are they still wondering if I'm okay, or if I can do my job, or are they still thinking about that time that they had to have a meeting about me."

"Yeah…" you say pensively, contemplating your next move. Right now, you're still as guarded as ever, but hearing the openness displayed by your commanding officer sparks something inside of you. You told Benson those three words, _He raped me_, but the details are still your own, kept hidden deep inside. But what the hell, she already knows, so you might as well give up anything that could help Reese, because you're still not believing any of this is for yourself.

"I reported." You say, your voice distant and defeated, and you still can't believe you're talking about this to _Olivia_ of all people. "I tried but… it's all about power and image in Atlanta. They cared more about protecting their reputation than they did about having a rapist running their sex crimes unit." There. You said it. You hug your arms to your chest and pull your knees up off the floor. It's as close to the fetal position as you can get and still save face.

"And more than they cared about protecting you." She finishes. You weren't going to say it, but it's the truth.

'I was a different person back then… Atlanta is... It's a boy's club down there, you have to do what you have to do to get in and be taken seriously. If you're a woman, you have to work twice as hard, and sometimes, you have to…" You trail off, hoping that she understands what you're trying to imply, because you _can't_ say it right now. You can't talk about all of the flirting and the harmless putting out that you did to work your way up the department's food chain, until one day Patton had a few too many and went further than you ever intended to give.

"But that still doesn't make this your fault, Amanda." She says, and she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. This time, you don't shrug it off. You've finally broken your silence, and it's almost starting to feel good. You've been seen, you've been heard, and you've been believed, and it gives you hope that maybe, just _maybe_, things will be different.

"So what happens now?" You ask softly, even though you know the answer already. Your story becomes everyone else's field day; there would be no room to hide anymore. Oh, God. Fin. And _Nick. _You'd worked with these guys for four years. Fin had become like an older brother to you, and Nick was… well, that was as complicated as always, but you were still "involved", whatever that meant, and you couldn't bear to think of the look on his face when you had to tell him that you'd kept this from him all these years.

"As your sergeant, I have to tell you that we don't have a very strong case. Nobody is arguing that they had sex, but he's claiming it was consensual. It's her word against his, and the court is going to see him as a decorated police officer with a clean record." You nodded, because you knew that debacle all too well. Your case hadn't even made it off the desk of Atlanta PD headquarters, instead being turned back into the hands of your superiors to "handle". A well respected officer versus a pretty young blonde. Déjà vu, but at least Reese had the luxury of a team that would take her seriously. You envied that. "We need you to help us establish a pattern. We have the DNA from Reese's rape kit, photos of the bruises. CSU is at the hotel room right now. With you corroborating her story, we may have enough to charge him. I haven't spoken with Barba yet."

Her words fall on deaf ears. You're listening, or at least pretending to, but all you can think about is Nick. And Fin. And Barba, and the fact that this new life you've worked so hard to build for yourself in New York is over, and how everyone may once again know you as the little slut who slept with her boss and cried rape because she regretted it.

"Did you have a rape kit done?" She asks you, and you realize that she's repeating herself because you weren't paying attention. An involuntary shudder courses up your spine. You were an SVU detective, a woman who had held the hand of countless women and convinced them to undergo the painstaking exam, and here you were a hypocrite, too ashamed of the situation you'd gotten yourself into to even go to the hospital.

You drop your eyes to the floor and bite your lip and shake your head slightly, because you know any words you try to speak right now are going to come out a blubbering mess.

"Okay… okay. That's okay, Amanda, I just needed to make sure. I'm going to ask Barba to try to plead this case out, but—"

"But knows the system, Liv. He won't do it. He _knows _the case we have against him is weak—"

"—Then I have to ask, are you going to be willing to testify if this does go to trial?"

_Trial? _Although not a far-fetched idea, you hadn't even allowed your mind to go there yet. Standing up, in what was sure to be open court, in front of everyone. Benson, Dodds, Barba… Fin, Nick and Ca-reepy (you were a little proud that your nickname was beginning to catch on). Reese and Sam and Patton, and his wife, who was certain to be there giving you that same icy stare you'd seen when she'd confronted you in the precinct foyer. You pause, before finally nodding your hesitant affirmation. Although appreciative that she's making it seem like it's your decision, you wouldn't put it past Barba to subpoena you regardless of your willingness. You'd rather feel like it was your own decision, at least, instead of being dragged through a trial against your will and come out without even having justice for your own assault.

"I wish we had some sort of jurisdiction with your case, but if we can get him convicted for Reese, we can make sure he never hurts anyone again. I'd love to let Fin and Nick alone in an interrogation room with him." That's enough to make you chuckle a bit, imagining a partially-dismembered Charles Patton waddling out of the precinct after your boys were through with him.

The lighthearted moment is short lived, and Olivia's back digging into business. "Amanda… I can't promise you how this is going to turn out. But I can promise you this: We are behind you, 100%. After Lewis… knowing I had people there, whether I chose to talk to them or not… I don't know if I could have gotten through the last year without all of you. I can't imagine how you've done this so far without a support system, but from now on, I'm on your side. We all are, whatever you need. You're not going to be doing this alone."

"Thank you." You mouth, a little thrown off by this uncharacteristic openness of Olivia Benson, especially speaking these truths to _you_ of all people.

"Okay. Now, go home."

"What? No, Sergeant, I'm fine. Everyone is busy, we just caught this case—"

"—That I can't let you anywhere near." She interrupts. "Rollins, you know that. I can't let you touch this investigation if we have to use your testimony. Take the rest of the day off… get yourself together, decide how you want to tell the guys. They're going to find out, and I want it to be on your terms."

You press your lips together and tilt your head back, fighting away the tears that are once again welling up in your eyes. It was hard enough to have this discussion with another female, one who you knew understood the throes of victimhood maybe even better than you did, but to talk about your personal violations with Carisi, Fin, and _Nick… _

"Take all the time you need in here." She tells you gently before she pushes herself up off of the bunk and walks toward the doorway. "I'm going to check with the guys and see if they've found anything, and maybe run this by Barba. Stop by the office before you punch out and I'll tell you if I know anything else."

What the hell had you gotten yourself into.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow... thank you guys for all of the reviews, favs, follows and overall incredible support for this story! Sounds like most of you are like me, DYING for the next episode! Writing this story is helping me survive until the next episode, and I hope reading is helping you buy some time as well. **

**I've never really written anything for Fin before, so I'd love to hear what you think of the dialogue. **

**If I don't get to update with another chapter (and yes, don't worry, this isn't the end) before Christmas, then I hope you all have a fabulous holiday!**

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><p>You'd finally turned your phone off, the first time that's happened since you joined the force ten years ago<em>. "Hey Amanda, where'd you go?"<em> and _"Let me know if you need anything"_ and _"Are you okay?" _coupled with dozens of missed calls from the precinct, you would deal with the consequences of being unreachable later.

Dodds knows. Olivia knows. Soon, Fin and Nick and Carisi and the rest of your squad will know, as will the rest of the department, and you'll forever be known as _poor Amanda_, the victim. Even worse, perhaps, you'll be the SVU detective who kept silent about her own assault. The Hypocrite.

You choose somewhere new today, a hole-in-the-wall dive bar where nobody knows you and nobody would come looking. Olivia had sent you home, but you didn't trust yourself there alone. It's barely 4:30, the city still in its constant state of workday hustle and bustle, and you're already downing your third helping of vodka on the rocks. You're not playing around today.

You hear the door to the bar open and close, and something about today has you on full alert. You're anxious and jittery and scared and unsure, and so entirely on edge. You spin around on your stool as if you're expecting Patton himself and spot a familiar face closing in on you.

Your partner brushes his hand lightly against your back as he takes a seat beside you. "You're a hard woman to track. I hit half the bars in Long Island City." You duck your head, knowing one look at your face will give it all away.

"I don't want to talk about this." You grit your teeth together and firmly answer the question he hasn't even asked, but you know it's coming. For a moment, you consider lying. Tell him that you got caught gambling again, that you'd fessed up to Liv and she sent you home pending further punishment. That would almost be less painful than the truth, albeit short-lived. Fin would come up with a wad of cash, shove it in your hand, and tell you to stay outta trouble.

"I'm not leavin'," He pushes, and you know he's not kidding; he's going to drag the truth out of you one way or another. You pick up your glass, swirling the pungent liquid around and around before finally bringing it up to your lips and taking a sip. "What happened with you and Patton?"

_Patton._

So Fin knows what this is all about. He knows why you bolted out of the precinct with your face splotchy and your eyes bloodshot, and why you're sitting in a bar at 4:30 in the afternoon drowning your sorrows in Vodka. You're not quite certain exactly what he's been told and what he's figured out and what he's read in between the lines, but you _are_ sure that's more than you wish.

You let out an exasperated sigh, taking another swig of your liqueur. "…I was Patton's shiny blonde protégé. The good girl. Smart. Just like he likes 'em." You don't really know why you're putting off the inevitable. He's going to know. Fin and Nick both, they're going to find out in a matter of days, hours even. There was never going to be an easy way to do this. You pick up your drink again and tilt it upwards, finishing up the last few drops of alcohol left in the bottom of your glass. You raise it up, cueing the bartender to pour you yet another, until Fin plucks it from your hand and requests two glasses of water and an order of french fries instead. You had to pick a bar that served food, didn't you.

You shoot him a glaring look of annoyance. "I'm fine, Fin. I'm a big girl." You remind him without even trying to hide the insolence in your voice. He raises an eyebrow and looks at you as you stare down at your new beverage, drawing circles in the condensation with your thumb.

He's not going away.

"The hell you are." He spits. "Don't give me that crap, Rollins. You've been actin' funny ever since we got back from Atlanta. You want to tell me what's goin on?"

You can't speak, because you know once you do, it's open season. Those three syllables, the _he raped me _that rolled off your tongue like word vomit back in Benson's office_, _aren't so easy to come by anymore. Not when it's just you and him, and he's your partner, and how can you protect him when you couldn't even protect yourself. Even worse, how would he be able to trust you when he finds out that you've kept such a critical part of your life, your career from him. You know the truth is going to come out, soon and very soon, but you just want to cling to whatever remnants of normality you have left for what little time you have the opportunity.

"Hey…" Your partner's tone softens, and he leans in closer, dropping his voice. " 'Manda. I met the guy for two minutes and I could tell ya he's a creep. Now tell me… did he touch you?"

There.

He said it.

He asked, and it's either digging yourself even deeper in a finite hole of lies, or coming clean.

You take a deep breath and tilt your head back, pressing your lips together, although it does nothing to stave off the tears welling up in your eyes. "Yeah," you choke out at last, hating the weakness in your voice and how just that one simple word of affirmation causes it to crack. You will your hands to stop shaking as you lift the glass of water up to your lips, finding it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

Fin just sits, watching you and taking it all in, and you wish you could read what he's thinking, because he's not giving it away.

"It was a long time ago…" Your words are slow and quiet, as you work to regain control of your frenzied breathing.

"Are you okay?" Fin interrupts, his delayed processing finally catching up to the circumstance. He reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of care that backfires, as it sends the floodgates spilling wide open.

You bury your head in your hands and prop your elbows up on the counter, and ugly cry in a way you haven't allowed yourself to do in the presence of someone else since that afternoon Lieutenant Tucker told you they were dropping the murder charges against you and pursuing your sister instead. You feel your partner shift on the seat beside you, and out of the corner of your blurry eye, catch him flashing his badge to the bartender, assumedly convincing the man that he's not some creep who's preying on a poor, unsuspecting women. Just one who's life is falling apart, no big deal.

Eventually, your sobs turn to sniffles, and you raise your head to look around. Fin's hand is still there, strong and steady as ever on your shoulder. You look over at him and force a sardonic smile as you wipe your eyes. "Anything else you want to know about your partner?"

"Why didn't you tell me, 'Manda?" He answers your query with one of his own.

You sigh. That question, _again, _and you know it's one you're bound to get from here on out_. _"It's… complicated. Things got messy back in Atlanta. I just needed a fresh start, you know?"

"And it's all comin' out because that detective reported him in New York…" Fin muses, taking a sip of his own water. He turns to look at you, and you can almost see the lightbulb above his head. "And now Benson and Barba want to use you to back up her story."

"Yeah." You affirm in a voice barely above a whisper, pressing your lips together once again to keep a handle on your emotions.

He doesn't ask you for the play by play, or the dirty details, or your sworn legal statement. You both know it will come out with time, but for now, you're both satisfied without an expansive discussion.

"You've got this, Amanda."

"Yeah. I'll be okay." Your voice is still an octave higher than normal, but you're past the point of caring. You give him the most convincing nod you can muster.

"You and Liv, man.. I know you two've got your issues, but she's got your back. We all do. You say the word and I'll knock that dumb smile right off Patton's face."

This time you laugh, and it's genuine, and it feels _good_. He pats you on the back once again before sliding off the barstool and grabbing your forearm, pulling you along with him.

"Where are we going?" You narrow your eyes and cautiously inquire.

"You really wanna keep talkin' about this? Otherwise, I'm takin' you home. You look like shit." He chuckles, nodding towards the door as it opens again and more people begin to filter in after the workday.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You feel like a weight has been lifted. The storm has only just begun, but to know you've been seen, heard and _believed_ yet again gives you confidence, that yes, you _can_ do this.

"Actually, can you…" You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling. You know what you need to do now, and you dread Fin's reaction. You contemplate the best way to phrase this, to avoid another _don't take people from this job home with you_ lecture from your partner, because now is _not_ the time. "Can you drop me off at Nick's?" You ask hesitantly, then hurry to fill in the details. "I just… need to give him a heads up, you know, before he hears everything at work tomorrow."

He smiles knowingly, then guides you toward the exit with his hand platonically resting on the small of your back.

You can do this, Rollins. You can do this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again! It appears that I lied to you all about not updating again before Christmas, but I doubt I will receive any complaints about that :) This chapter is a little bit short, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out there as this is a good stopping point.**

**Also, entirely off topic, just to throw this out there - I was _never_ a cheerleader, and my only escapade in tennis ended with a concussion and a hospital visit. The whole "cheertennis12" was from a joke a friend and I played on a guy back in high school, and I needed something quick to keep my fanfic life a little incognito from my typical username. I'd change it now, but don't want to confuse everyone, haha! **

**Once again, please leave a comment, even if you've just been lurking around so far, I'd love to hear from you! Merry Christmas!**

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><p>The car ride is silent for the most part. Fin makes small talk here and there, but he doesn't speak a word of Charles Patton, or Reese Taymor, or Olivia Benson, and mostly, he just leaves you be. He's always been a good friend to you, and you appreciate that now more than ever.<p>

He stops the car in front of Nick's house and offers to come inside with you. _Moral Support_ he calls it. You politely decline, not knowing where this might go or what still-hidden information about your ambiguous relationship might be divulged, but you still appreciate the sentiment. You need to do this for Nick, however intertwined or extricated from your current relationship it may be.

It was a vicious cycle for you two. Fight, and make up, and then settle back in to awkwardness and uncertainty. You'd dangled it in front of him that night, told him a skeleton story and rhetorically begged him to dig deeper. For a detective, he sure wasn't on his game that night, and if you were being totally honest, you were a little hurt. _More than a little hurt_. You didn't want to tell him, and you didn't want things to be different, but you wanted him to know what had shaped you into who you are today. You wanted him to care enough to push.

You stand on the sidewalk, hugging your arms to your chest to protect yourself from the bitter cold. You watch Fin merge back into traffic on the busy street before you turn around and take your time walking up the steps to Nick's front door.

"Hey…" You greet him timidly as the door swings open, still holding your arms close to you, but now it's a form of self-protection. And it's still New York in January.

"Amanda, hey." He looks surprised to see you, a little confused, but he quickly recovers with a smile. It's hard to tell if it's genuine or not, but at least it's still _Amanda_ instead of the typical cop greeting of your surname. You're not sure if you could handle being _Rollins_ to him right now, even if it has been awhile since the last time you were intimate, or even since the last time you spoke as anything more than coworkers. "Did you try to call? Sorry, my phone—"

"I'm sorry." You cut him off, realizing quickly that this was not a good idea. You shouldn't have come here, not in your current emotional state and not in the current state of your ambiguous relationship with Nick. You weren't on bad terms, you weren't on good terms, you just… were. "Never mind, I should go…"

He reaches out and catches your arm as you start to walk off. "No… stay." He asks, almost pleads, and you oblige, because you came here on a mission in the first place and the fear of where your mind would wander if you allowed yourself to be quiet and alone at this point overwhelmed you.

You follow him into the house, hesitantly at first. The aroma of Cuban spice fills your nose, and_ mmmm yes_. If there was anything you'd learned about Nick over these last few months, it's that damn, that man could cook. His madre taught him well. You take a seat at the bar counter as Nick returns to the stove, stirring the saucepan on the burner and bringing the spoon up to his lips to quality control.

You make small talk while he cooks, about what Zara got for Christmas, and how you had to take Frannie to the emergency vet at 3am one night because she got into the Christmas cookies that had been dropped off at the precinct, a _sorry not sorry you have to work on Christmas_ consolation prize, and how you both still can't understand why Olivia keeps Carisi around. If he saw you run out of the precinct this afternoon with your eyes red and your face splotchy, he didn't give any indication.

Occasionally, you think you've gotten close to working up the nerve to tell him why you're here, but your courage wanes and waxes like a tidal wave.

"You want something to eat?" He turns around and asks. You look at him pensively and your furrow your eyebrows. The remnants of your alcoholic overindulgence from earlier in the afternoon take that at a cue to churn in your stomach, and _ugh_, you're a bit queasy at the thought of food. You also don't want him to assume you're here with expectations of anything resembling a date night. Dinner, a movie, some extracurriculars, not a chance.

He seems to notice your uneasiness. "Come on. Eat. I'm going to have more leftovers than I can handle. Never could get used to cooking for one," and there's a underlying sadness in his voice. He misses Zara. Maybe he even misses Maria, you can never tell for sure and you sure don't ask.

You slide off the stool and amble over, until you're standing beside him, peering at the overabundance of _ropa vieja _simmering in the skillet. He hooks an arm around your waist and gently pulls you in until your body is flush against his.

"Hey… I'm glad you're here." He leans in and rests his forehead against yours, one arm behind your neck and the other secured around your waist, holding you tightly. It's a little cutesy for you, and if it were anyone, _anyone _other than Nick, you'd be uncomfortable to say the least. You're guarded, always guarded, and you don't let men surprise you and take charge like this, not since _that night_ in Atlanta. But it's Nick, and you would trust him with your life. "I've missed you." He murmurs as he adjusts his stance and presses his lips against yours.

That's what this is about. It finally clicks – That's why he thinks you're here. A booty call. A wash, rinse, and repeat of the past ten months. He's lonely, you're lonely, and you find yourselves together again, whether it means anything or not.

Your first instinct is to fight it, because you're above that. You're not the kind of girl who shows up at a man's house just because you need to scratch an itch, and you sure as hell aren't going to let him think that you are.

…

Three hours later and you're lying in his bed, but sleep eludes you. Nick snores quietly, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing as his chest presses against your back and his arm rests securely around your middle.

Somehow you ended up in this position, and it was hardly against your will. You came here to talk to him, to inform him of the inevitable before your world turns upside down in Benson's office in the morning. To say those three words, _he raped me_. Instead, you ended up sleeping with him, out of convenience… desperation… fear, hurt, and a myriad of conflicting emotions you couldn't even begin to decipher. Again.

All of a sudden, you're incredibly self-conscious. It's dark, and quiet, and Nick's fast asleep, but you can't shake the feeling that the walls are closing in on you. You shift in Nick's arms, pulling the hem of the oversized NYPD t-shirt he let you borrow down to cover as much of your thighs as possible. He grumbles a bit as you lift his warm hand away from the bare skin of your stomach, breathing a sigh of relief when he quickly returns to snoring.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here, with him, in his bed, after all these weeks, letting him think this is something is wasn't intended to be, but in your emotional state, you've allowed it to become.

But for one more night, one more hour, one more minute – you're here, with him, and you'll savor your remnants of normality before it all comes crashing down in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, whatever you celebrate I hope it was a great one!**

**This chapter is where I had to step out on a limb a little bit, and take some guesses, so once the episode airs, it may end up that this has deviated from canon. But hey, I have snow on my brain right now :) **

**Also, I don't think this is the end quite yet, but I'm hoping to have this finished by the time the episode airs. Next chapter will actually be "the talk" with Nick I anticipate. **

**Reviews always motivate me to write faster :) **

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><p><em>It had snowed in February; a rarity in itself, but the white powder had quickly turned to a wet, sloppy inconvenience. The city had shut down, as it often did with two inches of snow, but here you were, at the precinct as always, because crime never took a rest for inclement weather. <em>

_You were Atlanta's token undercover girl, the queen bee of honey traps. You could dress up, play the drunk and disorderly, walk down a street seemingly alone and distracted, and lure any pervert in the vicinity right into the hands of your backup. _

_If only you'd had backup from your backup. _

_It was getting late, the streets were beginning to freeze into an icy mess, and driving was becoming more treacherous by the second for a winter-incompetent, warm-blooded Georgian like yourself. You're the only one left at the station except the for the nighttime patrolmen, and you begin to contemplate sleeping in the bunks to avoid venturing out onto the poorly conditioned roads in that beat up pickup truck of yours. _

_As if he could read your mind, Patton emerged from his office at that very moment. "You're still here, Amanda? I'm gettin' ready to leave; why don't I drop you off at home, darlin'? It's getting icy out there. Wouldn't want you gettin' into trouble." _

_As much as you want to refuse the offer, Patton had been making you feel increasingly uncomfortable as of late, it's a hard bargain to turn down. A night in your own bed, not having to rely on your neighbors to let Frannie out once again… "Thanks, Chief. I'd appreciate it." You smile sweetly and begin to pack up your things._

_You'd made it back to your place, but not without a few minor heart attacks along the way. You'd skidded all over I-20, fishtailed on Evans Mill Road, and you knew, you __**knew**_ _that your Chief lived out in the boonies and the roads were guaranteed to be even worse once he left your apartment. _

_So you exercised your mandated southern hospitality, and invited him inside. You'd poured drinks—one, then two, then three, four, and you'd lost count—and he'd sung your praises over your work in the department. "My protégé", he coined you that night. "You're going to go far, Amanda. I'm proud of you," He said, and his move to kiss you was so quick that you couldn't process what was happening fast enough to resist. _

_He was a cop, a coworker, your __**boss**__. He'd been a little handsy with you in the past, and you'd flirted right back, because it's just how you did things in Atlanta. But it was nothing. It was a necessity for the job. _

_Until he thought your initial compliance meant something more, and he wouldn't take no for an answer, and it became the biggest mistake of your life. _

_…_

"_Amanda_"

Suddenly, your eyes fly open. You scramble to a sitting position, chest heaving, tears threatening as you frantically scan your dimly-lit surroundings. You let out a tiny sigh of relief. You're okay. It's just a dream. You're safe.

The nightmares, they'd plagued you in Atlanta. Every night, you'd fallen asleep just to be woken up a few hours later, fighting for air and drenched in your own sweat. You would curl up in a ball, and summon Frannie up onto the bed with you, which you _never_ used to do, and cry yourself back to sleep over the dread of having to face Patton's smiling face in just a few hours.

Then you moved to New York, and your nighttime awakenings eventually tapered off. That is, until you'd travelled back home, and seen that same smirk that had plagued your dreams, and heard those cryptic words that hadn't strayed far from your mind since, the _I never could take no for an answer. _

He meant it as a joke. A sick joke, making light of everything that had happened in the time leading up to your departure from the squad. Like maybe you were wrong and you'd misinterpreted the situation, and just maybe enough time had transpired since that night for you to be able to laugh about it like old friends.

Now, you sit cross-legged on the bed, _Nick's_ bed, digging the heels of your hands into your orbital sockets. Not here, not now, not in front of him. Your cheeks flame red in embarrassment at your friend, boyfriend, coworker-with-benefits seeing you at your most vulnerable moment.

"Hey… are you okay?" He asks, pulling up beside you and gently rubbing your back.

"Yeah… yeah. I'm fine, I'm okay. Sorry…." You bring your hands down to rub your temples, heart still feeling like it's about to lub-dub right out of your chest. You duck your head and turn away, making every attempt to hide your shaky frame and rapid breathing from the man beside you.

"It's okay, 'Manda. Hey, we work SVU, it… happens. The stuff we see…." He shakes his head, as if he thinks he understands every little thought running through your head. "I'd be lying if I said I slept easy every night."

"Oh." You pause. "No, It's nothing. Really. Frannie and I watched some scary movies over the weekend. I should know better than to do that. I get a little… jumpy." You force a smile and fake a laugh. _I should have known better _was the tune of your life.

"Isn't Patton the guy from the case we caught this morning? Your old deputy chief from Atlanta?" Nick asks nonchalantly, and you freeze, wondering exactly what your subconscious gave away while you were sleeping.

"Um. ye…yeah. Why?"

He grins at you. "Because you kept saying his name. You're lying to me, Rollins. Scary movies, my ass." He teases, lightly shoving your shoulder to further reinforce that he's just joking with you, and now he thinks it's just a simple case and your all-encompassing job at SVU that have you all riled up tonight, but damn it, what information had you cried out at your most vulnerable moments.

"Alright… you caught me." You smirk, deciding just to play along. The ever-present _tell him, Amanda _keeps repeating itself in your head, but instead, you push it aside and push him back down onto the bed, curling up beside him. "I'm sorry I woke you up." You murmur, and he responds by throwing an arm around you and pulling you closer. You've never been much of a cuddler, but tonight, it just feels right.

"Do you think he did it?" He asks you sleepily, just as soon as you think you're out of the woods. _Tomorrow… you'll talk tomorrow._

You shrug as best you can while lying down, too anxious to give an opinion of your own before hearing his opinions on the matter. "Do you?"

"I don't know…" He sighs. "You know these things, these _he said she said_ cases. You can never really know. He seemed pretty friendly with Reese when we met them at the conference, and she didn't seem to mind… and I mean, she changed her story as soon as she saw Benson, right?… I just think he deserves the benefit of the doubt. It may not be what it seems."

_He deserves… _The words make you sick to your stomach, to think that bastard deserves _anything_ from you, now or ever. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your body tenses in Nick's arms.

He notices.

"Hey…. Hey. C'mon, 'Mand. I'm not—I don't—You remember Carissa? How she accused me of being… inappropriate? And then she and Ganzel set Cragen up? The department just hung him out to dry; Guilty until proven innocent. I just don't want to see another good cop go down because a woman got involved with her boss and regretted it."

"Nick, she's not just some girl. She's a _detective_, like us." _Like me._ Your voice doesn't crack this time, and your eyes aren't yet burning with tears. You're just overwhelmed, too tired to fight anymore. Nick doesn't believe her. He won't believe you either, and nothing ever changes. Patton's smooth, charismatic, and well respected; You're just a tramp from a trailer park who has a long history of using her body to get what she wants — first to move up the ranks in Atlanta, and now even to avoid talking to Nick tonight. Nothing ever changes.

"Yeah, but she's already changing her story. We don't know this girl, Amanda. We met her one time before SVU got involved in this case... Just because she _should_ be reliable doesn't mean she is."

"Maybe she's, she's scared of him! Maybe… maybe he threatened her, threatened her job?! Come on, Nick. There's a million different reasons why girls change their story. It doesn't mean she's making it up. That's what makes people scared to disclose, makes them wish they never had in the first place. You don't know what Atlanta is like." You don't mean for this to turn into an argument, but there's no turning back now. Every neuron in your brain is firing now, and you're not going to let Reese become the next Amanda Rollins in Atlanta. Your reputation is a lost cause, and the damage has long been done. She still has a chance to get the justice and the support that you never did..

"Hey… okay." He soothes. "Amanda, what's going on? You know the guy, don't you. What's your read on him… you trust him?"

A lump forms in your throat, and it's everything you can do to stop screams of _nonononono NO. _The same cries that echoed inside your apartment that desolate February night, when you'd invited him inside, and offered him a drink, and another, and he'd kissed you, and you let him because you were scared and it was your job and he was your boss, and he never hit the breaks, not even when you were crying and begging him to stop.

Instead, you slowly shake your head as your eyes fill with the tears and your mind fills with the words that have long since been imminent tonight. It's dark, but the moonlight streaming in through the cracks in the blinds reflects off of Nick's eyes, and you're sure it does even more to highlight the wetness brimming in your own.

"Amanda…" He says your name again, slow and calm and steady. He reaches out to brush the hair out of your face, a gesture so full of care and such a stark contrast to the abuse handed to you by the guys in Atlanta. The physical came from Patton, but the verbal and emotional from the coworkers that made you the mockery of the precinct after you'd come forward about your attack and Patton accused of you of just getting skittish about your _involvement _with your superior.

"What happened in Atlanta?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Happy New Year, everyone! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you all feel the same about reading it! **

**One week from today, we'll all know what ACTUALLY happened to Rollins, and we can stop speculating, FINALLY!**

**Don't forget to comment - I'd appreciate it!**

**PS. I don't know what is going on with the publisher today... I tried to post this a couple times yesterday and it didn't work :( Trying my best to make it work, sorry for the delay!**

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><p>You throw the covers back and slide out of the bed, making your way to the window. Nick starts to say something, asks where you're going, but you don't respond. You're not running, but you are; you just need some space. You pull the blinds open, and stare out at the quiet city streets below and the flurries beginning to swirl in front of the window.<p>

You touch your chin to your shoulder and look back, just enough to see Nick in your periphery. He sits on the edge of the bed, head hung and elbows resting on his knees, but his eyes are still on you.

All of a sudden, you're aware of the gentle breeze from the ceiling fan hitting the back of your bare thighs, and you shudder, not from the cold but from the sheer exposure. You'd worked hard for that ass and you've never been shy about showing it off, and lord knows Nick's seen you in all your glory before. But tonight you just feel... vulnerable. You subtly fidget with the hemline of the t-shirt he loaned you, stretching it and pulling it down again and again until you feel the weight of a comforter being draped over your shoulders. Nick's arms linger on you a little longer than you'd expect, a little longer and you realize he intends for them to stay there.

You shift a bit, and he quickly gets your message, taking a step back. He hangs close, but he gives you the space you need. Still, your nonverbal has already told him everything your words haven't, and you know he's not going away.

You haphazardly chew the inside of your lip, debating back and forth what exactly you need to tell him right now. How much of what happened in Atlanta did he really need to know? Did he have to find out exactly how many coworkers you'd flirted with, put out for, and even slept with in the Atlanta PD for personal gain, and would he believe you when you promised that this, _him and you_, it wasn't like that.

_Slept with _sounds so innocent. It's what you do with Nick, how he's gentle and respectful, and you lie beside him afterwards and fall asleep tangled in his arms. No, what you did in Atlanta was carnal and manipulative and embarrassing. You were the whore of the department and everyone knew it, and it's why nobody believed when you said that Patton did something against your will. You'd already consented to everything under the sun.

And rest assured, as soon as the Atlanta boys was told that you'd gotten wrapped up in this and you were going after one of their own, they wouldn't mince words when it came to your reputation down south. Fin and Olivia, they would find out all the grimy details eventually, that it was more than just a blitz attack, and the thought made you sick to your stomach. But Nick, if there's any chance of redemption between you two, the truth has to come out. _Now._

"Nick, I need to tell you something" you say quietly, and although that fact has already been well established, you don't know where else to start. He hums his affirmation, letting you know that he's still with you.

You take a deep breath, letting it out in a defeated huff. "I was... a different person in Atlanta. Someone I'm not proud of. And... and when I came here, I needed a fresh start, and I didn't want anyone to know why I left. I just… wanted to start over." You say softly, trying and failing to keep your voice from wavering.

You hug the comforter a little tighter around yourself as if trying to make the garment live up to its name as a means of consolation. "Down there… it's a boys club. You want to be there as a woman, you have to… prove it. Prove you have something worth keeping you around. I just…"

You press your lips together and look up at the ceiling, in a worthless attempt to keep the tears from trailing down your cheeks. "I knew how to use what I had to get what I wanted. I was popular, alright, but not in a good way. The guys all knew I was easy… the department whore," You finally admit with a sarcastic and self-degrading chuckle. "But that's how I moved up the ranks, that's how I got what I wanted, that's how they accepted me. I never was good at staying out of trouble." You flourish your confession with a half-shrug, and use the corner of the blanket to wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

You turn back and look at him, anxious for a reaction. His face is blank, unreadable, between the dim ambience of the room and the indecipherable expression he carries. "But this… me and you… it's not like that, I promise. I promise you, all of that is… over. That's not me anymore, Nick." You plead, taking a step toward him that brings you face to face.

"So you and Patton…" He finally responds with a shake of his head, as if trying to wrap his mind around everything you've just revealed.

"No." You quickly cut in with a rebuttal, because you know where this is going. "It wasn't like that. Never. But… he knew the reputation I had. He knew no one would believe me if I…" Your voice cracks again, and it's hard to swallow around the lump in your throat, but you take a few moments to collect yourself before continuing. "It snowed one night, and he gave me a ride home. The roads, they were awful, so he got stuck at my apartment. He was my superior officer, I thought…"

You wipe your eyes again and turn back to the window, unable to look at him as the conversation proceeds. "I offered him a drink, had a few myself, but I wasn't drunk. He was, and… I didn't want… I said no… I'm sorry…" You trail off in a hiccupped whisper.

"Hey… no, no, no, 'Manda…" He moves in front of you and squats to eye level, planting his hands on your shoulders. "This is not your fault, you hear me, damn it?" He scowls, stepping back and running his hands across his face. "Liv and Fin, do they know?"

"Yes… but not until today." You feel the need to clarify, so Nick doesn't think you've been selective in your hiding. "I think Cragen did. My old captain, they were friends… he helped me transfer… I don't know what he was told." You shrug dejectedly. You'd always tried not to think about it, but you were at least thankful for Cragen's professionalism and propriety in welcoming you to the unit, even if he did know the reasons behind it.

"Damn it, Amanda… God, I can't… we're going to get him… Where the hell is he…" He mutters, more to himself than to you. He drops his arms and you watch him as he rummages through the dresser for a pair of sweatpants. It's not until he slides on a shoe that you realize what's going on.

"Hey… Nick, don't…" You plead, and it comes out as more of a question than a command. He meets your gaze and smiles, but underneath, you can see the anger and vengeance simmering.

He sighs, eventually sitting back on the bed and pulling off his shoes. He tosses them in the corner and rubs his hands over his eyes. "You okay?" He finally turns to you and asks.

"Yeah…" You respond with a sigh of your own, moving to sit beside him on the mattress with the blanket still hugged tightly around you. "I'm fine… I will be." You say with a forced laugh and an unconvincing smile.

"If you ever want to... talk…" He awkwardly assures you, but talking has never been a strong suit for the two of you, even before this. Still, you appreciate the sentiment.

You nod halfheartedly and rest your head against his shoulder. He's good to you; he's always been, even in the midst of your gambling and your lashing out and your falling apart, he's never made you feel anything but safe.

He cautiously slips an arm around you, giving you every opportunity to resist if you want. This time, you don't. You lean in to him and let him support your weight as he softly strokes your hair. Once again, he's a blissful port in the storm for you, just like he was a year ago when your life crumbled in an entirely different way. And you know that one day, you're going to have to talk, about Atlanta, and what this means for your already undefined relationship. You wish you could just forget Atlanta, and forget Patton. Forget Olivia, forget Fin, forget Barba and the onslaught of questions sure to arise tomorrow morning.

But for now, at 3:47am, in a modest row house on a quiet street in Brooklyn, it's just you and him, and you're okay.


	7. Chapter 7

**sooo it's funny because I just told lucyspencer last night that I thought I was done with this story buuuut thanks to lots of Twitter spoilers and some insomnia, here you go! **

**It's short, and I apologize for any errors because I did hammer this out pretty quickly, but I hope it helps you all survive until TOMORROW!**

**Reviews greatly appreciated!**

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><p>You still can't believe you're doing this, that all of your dirty little secrets have been thrust in the spotlight and now you're left to unravel the mess that you'd spent the last four years running from.<p>

Talking with Nick in the wee hours of the night had left you with some semblance of security, but that consolation was short lived. He had quickly fallen back to sleep, but you weren't as lucky. You mind was running on overdrive as he again snored quietly behind you.

You'd slipped out before he even woke up.

You made it back to your apartment before the sun rose, feeling slightly guilty that you hadn't at least told him you were leaving, but you couldn't face him. At least not after the implications of what you'd told him last night had finally had a chance to settle with you. He'd looked at you a little differently, held you a little tighter as at least one of you drifted back to sleep, and you doubted if things would ever be the same.

…

The day at work had been strange, almost surreal. A whirlwind of Benson and Barba and Dodds, and that look of mixed hurt and pity that Nick gave you when you'd slipped into the precinct this morning, late again. You'd lost track of time in the shower, trying to scrub the memories and the feelings of filth off of you skin. For once, Olivia didn't berate you for your tardiness, only gave you a sympathetic smile, because she thought she understood. You'd have rather faced her wrath, to be honest.

And then there was Patton, and the interrogation you'd mistakenly watched through the two-way mirror. Although you didn't want to hear what he had to say about Reese, and about you, you couldn't bear the thought of Nick and Fin hearing this without you also being privy to the slander so you had some idea of what to refute.

It turned out, you almost wished you had. You'd stared straight ahead because you couldn't bear to make eye contact with your squad, your knees going weak at Patton's icy demeanor, and his false accusations, and the _I think Amanda Rollins put her and you all up to this _that repeated itself over and over inside your head. And based on your conversation at the hospital, Reese was refusing to cooperate. According to Benson, she wouldn't even disclose any information about the assault until you'd left the room, and it was further proof that Patton and the APD had gotten to her when it came to the public opinion of you.

You needed to talk to Reese.

..

You stop in front of the door to Room 432, checking the numbers against the scribble on the scrap paper in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the wood.

"Reese? It's… Amanda Rollins." You say hesitantly, because you know she doesn't want to talk to you. At least, you think so. You barely know the girl, only through Patton's cheesy introduction at the conference intermission where he all but stuck her tongue down her throat in front of you, but if she'd caught wind of the rumors that had swirled around the precinct at the news of you leaving, you wouldn't blame her.

_Stop it, Rollins. _

"What are you doing here." She startles you when she throws the door open and crosses her arms. "I told your sergeant, I don't want to press charges, and I'm _not_ going to testify. Just drop it."

"I just want to talk." You say quietly, your hands raised in surrender. She rolls her eyes, but reluctantly steps aside and allows you entrance into the hotel room. You scan the room and take in its current state of disarray. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, and a half empty suitcase sits on the bed, and it looks to you like she's about to make a run for it.

Just like you did.

"Reese… don't do this." You beg, the emotional exhaustion evident in your voice. You sit down on the bed without even asking permission, because you can't let her do this. You can't let Patton get away with it _again. _

"Why does it matter?" She whirls around, her eyes narrowed and arms still hugged firmly against her chest. You see right through the façade, because you've been there too. The tough one, the girl to give the boys club a run for their money with her spunk and sass and attitude. It was all too familiar.

"Because I believe you. We want to help… The NYPD, it's nothing like Atlanta."

"Sure." She rolls her eyes again.

"We don't want him to get away with this." You try a different approach.

"You're here because you want to see justice done? For little 'ol me?" She fires back sarcastically, and _ah_, you've struck a nerve now.

"Yes." You answer honestly.

"So everybody at home can hear what he did to me, know my humiliation? So I can get called a slut just like you? I'm nothing like you." She snips, and _ouch. _You _know_ she doesn't understand, she doesn't know you apart from the rumors she's heard, but it's been a long time since you've been called a slut. It still hurts.

"You mean, you're a good girl."

"Yes. I worked hard to get where I am." The tears threaten your eyes, and you feel like you're looking at a younger version of yourself in a mirror. Young, pretty, blonde, ambitious, and naïve. You'd worked hard too. _You'd _busted your ass to prove yourself too, and it got you to New York, but not without pain in the process.

"I know…" You say quietly, because you do. "That's why this hurts so much. You thought if you did your job, worked twice as hard as the men, you'd be seen as a good detective. But Charlie Patton, Charlie figures he's a king. He's entitled."

You might be mistaken, but you think you see Reese's face soften, if only for a second. You take a deep breath and continue before you change your mind. "He got you to where you are. He took you under his wing, showed you the ropes, and told you how proud he was of you. But then… he thought he deserved more and it doesn't matter if you said no, he got you to where you are so he can take what you owe him." Your voice cracks on the last few syllables, and you finish your monologue off with a half shrug.

You're not sure if it's your words or your nonverbal, but it seems like maybe Reese finally _gets it. _"So everything they said about you… and why you left. None of that is true." Reese finally answers you, as if trying to wrap her mind around your pseudo-revelation, and you'd glad she can read between the lines because if you have to say those three words_ he raped me_ one more time you're not too far off from losing it entirely.

You shake your head no, before finally collecting yourself enough to speak. "I made a lot of mistakes in Atlanta, I can own that. Some of what you've heard, maybe it is true. But the deputy chief and I…." You shake your head again. "We both… trusted someone we shouldn't have."

"And that's why you left APD?"

"Yeah." You admit. "I couldn't… I needed a fresh start. I tried to do the right thing, but I… I understand what you mean about everyone knowing your humiliation."

You sit in silence, as if each trying to wrap your mind around this newfound bond that neither of you would have chosen.

"I'm sorry." You finally speak again. "If I would have stuck to my guns—"

"—Don't" She interrupts, holding up a hand. You'd almost forgotten, she works Special Victims too. "Maybe you weren't his first either. But you sure as hell better believe it, he's not going to do it to anyone else." She says firmly, and you finally begin to feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, maybe someone will finally expose Patton for what he is.

You nod in agreement. "If you go through with this, I promise… I'm on your side, whatever you need. And my squad, the ADA… He's not going to get away with it. Atlanta might be a boys club, but NYPD… they're good guys."

You say it with conviction, and it's true. New York has always been different. Nick, Fin and even Carisi – they deserve more credit than you've ever given.

"Okay." Reese finally agrees, and although you're still not sure what she's consenting to, you feel like you've finally broke through a wall. While your heart still breaks for the girl in front of you, you're thankful that Patton finally slipped up where the jurisdiction belongs to people you have full confidence in.

He wouldn't get away with this again.


End file.
